


Loss

by sunaddicted



Series: Sensory Prompts Drabbles [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 14:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: Desperate to turn the tides.To win.To show himselfworthy.





	Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: digging your fingers into fresh dirt

_Loss_

There was a scream trapped amidst his vocal chords, madly fluttering like a caged bird; no matter how much he tried, Mairon couldn't let it out and he kept choking on it, his whole fana rebelling against the steady loss of oxygen.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't drown on air either. 

Mairon gritted his teeth, his fingers somehow following suit in their own way as they curled in the dirt - damp, soft, blood-soaked. 

He had lost another battle. 

He had disappointed Melkor once again. 

There were few things that Mairon dreaded more than going back to Angband with nothing to show for his efforts, only a depleted army trailing behind him. What was worse, Melkor never got angry - never punished him even when he clearly deserved it the most; he just coaxed him into a bath and helped him to unbraid his hair, running a comb through it to gently undo the mess of dried mud and clotted blood as he not-so-subtly checked his fana for injuries. 

Mairon didn't understand so much tenderness being poured on him - not when even Aulë had been ready to reprimand him about his rare mistakes, so insignificant when compared to losing a battle - but he soaked it up anyway, an ugly mix of relief and guilt roiling thickly in his stomach in an ever raising wave of nausea that only Melkor's hands on his knotted shoulders could soothe. 

Unlike the ones that weighted on him in that moment. 

"Get up" Gothmog urged, probably still on the lookout for the enemies that they had dissipated after winning, unwilling to lose more lives just to annihilate them all.

They might not have been Melkor's hands but still, Mairon managed to draw some comfort from them - enough to let go of the earth baptised with their blood; enough to swallow the against the lump on nothingness in his throat; enough to force himself to stand on his own two feet even after being pushed so low. 

"Are you hurt?"

_I wish_ "No"

"Good" the Balrog clapped his shoulders again, almost too hard - making sure that the Maia was solid under his palms, alive and unharmed; it was more relieving than he could ever say out aloud, especially after helplessly watching Mairon throw himself in the middle of battle without any regard for his own safety. 

Desperate to turn the tides. 

To win.

To show himself _worthy_.

How he couldn't awe that Melkor would love him anyway, no matter how many battles he lost, Gothmog disarm know.  The only thing he could do, it was trying to keep the Maia safe and shepherd him back home even when he didn't want to go, fallen prey to his own insecurities - demons imposed on him by those who were meant to nurture and protect his spirit in Valinor "I have already regrouped our army"  what was left of it, anyway.

"Thank you" Mairon nodded, lips pursed: he was so weak that the Balrog had had to take in hand the Orcs "Let's go, then"

Gothmog didn't say that the other didn't need to thank him because he knew from past experiences that his words wouldn't be received well. The Maia was his commander and, dare he even think it, his friend - someone he could count on, a steadfast presence throughout the Ages whereas Melkor's had been flickering at best. 

Maybe, one day, Mairon himself would see how worthy he was - but until that day arrived, Gothmog had all intentions of being his shadow, always there to uplift him when he couldn't do it himself.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rusty as hell! It's been a while since I've written my favourite angsty child(TM)


End file.
